Page 18 of Big Nick Energy
I look at both of them judgementally. ‘Are you telling me to sell myself to a man so we can fix the library roof?’
‘You’re doing it for the community, for the kids, for all the books,’ she says, winking. ‘It’s not a silly thing to consider now you’re a bit older. The women in Austen’s books were always looking for gentlemen of a certain stature and fortune so they could be married off.’
‘And only one time in a hundred did they end up with a Darcy,’ I reply, shaking my head. ‘We’ll see. We’re meeting for drinks tomorrow. I’ll ask him to write a cheque then.’
‘Or shag him first then ask him for the money. Work for that dollar,’ Helen says, still sitting at her desk as a library patron approaches. ‘Hello, sir. What can I do for you?’
He looks at the three of us curiously. ‘I have books to donate to your Christmas drive,’ he says, a small box in his hands.
I walk over. ‘That’s very kind of you, sir. I’ll take them.’
‘I saw your flyer in the supermarket, how’s that all going?’ he asks me. There is kindness behind this man’s eyes. I hope he’s told his wife he’s put a lot of her Nicholas Sparks in this box. ‘It’s a marvellous thing you’re doing.’
Helen and Olga stand there beaming behind me as I chat. It was a thought really that came to me in November, trying to collect as many books as I could to give away to the community. Some I would donate to schools, others to nursing homes and other community centres. We’d wrap them up and put on events and readings. It was a small idea that’s snowballed into something larger, and I’m grateful that people have bought into it.
‘Thank you. That’s very kind.’
‘Also, while I’m here, I’m looking for a book for my wife. It’s calledThe Pisces.’
The erotic fiction novel about the woman who has sex with a merman?
‘I believe Helen can help you look for that,’ I say, grinning.
‘IT’S SNOWING EVERYONE!’ I turn to the noise in the corner of the children’s section. It’s not snowing, not even close, but the clamour has increased to a roar and I realise that I’ve left snowman Lucy on her own to fend for herself. She can’t see down past her snowman belly, I hope she’s not trampled on a toddler. I scurry over and find that she’s got them all joining in the chorus ofFrosty the Snowman, with actions, and the kids all look up at her, fascinated. I didn’t realise the song came with actions. She’s got her own sleigh bells. But then she gets to a line about melting and does a dramatic dying scene like the witch in Oz. Did she just throw ice cubes everywhere? A toddler cries. Christ, Luce – get up. She jumps back up and sees me smiling in the corner.
‘Everyone, this is my special elf friend, Kay. Can we all wave at her?’ A little toddler marvels at my green and purple dress and she’s instantly my favourite person here. Yes, I am an elf but I am not dancing; this is what I’m buying Lucy a kebab for. ‘Now kids, tell her, don’t date Nick. She can do so much better.’
‘Don’t date Nick!’ an excitable five-year-old shouts out. Some parents look supremely confused.
Lucy laughs, rubbing her snowman belly. ‘Right, kiddios. I believe there’s colouring and craft, and then I am going to read a story!’ she says, her eyes widening. The children are mesmerised. She is very good at making this little corner of the library come to life. I grin as they start running to the little tables we’ve set up, everyone wondering why there are only two crayons on each table. Olga wasn’t joking.
Lucy wades over to me in her costume. ‘I will take an extra-large doner with chips if you please. Did you see me melting? Wasn’t I convincing?’
‘Pick up your ice in case the children try to eat it,’ I say. It may be too late though. It’s already melted, leaving small puddles everywhere on the carpet. That had better be ice. I hope all the babies walking around have nappies on.
‘Oh, also the little tosser in the Chelsea shirt asked me why I’m not a man. Snowmen should be men apparently.’ I look around in case anyone heard that. ‘So I told him someone nicked my snowballs.’ I watch the one-year-olds stumbling around with crayons in their fists; all that glitter being sprinkled will make Olga’s head spin. She’ll have to get the hoover out. ‘A heads-up in case someone complains.’
‘Thanks for telling all the little ones about Nick,’ I say, linking an arm through hers.
‘This is why I’m here. I always tell my sisters, old meat is bad meat,’ she says, seemingly unaware that little ears are still listening.
‘Which is a meaningful phrase in many situations, especially in the run-up to Christmas.’ My face is taut from trying not to giggle.
‘Exactly. Especially when it comes to pork, bad pork can make you very ill… OOOH, GLITTER! Look how fancy you’vemade that! I think you’re going to get one of Frosty’s special stars for that!’ Lucy walks away, winking at me.
I do love how she yo-yos between festive cheer and sheer indecency, but most of all I love how she does all of this for free. We got a quote in from a RADA man who wanted four hundred pounds and a dressing room.
Bad meat.It was good meat, to be fair, though it feels a little inappropriate to be thinking those thoughts while surrounded by little ones. I’m single. He’s single. Maybe enough time has passed to not get too het up about why it ended, maybe we’re older and wiser now. We had certainly matured in the bedroom. There was a whole ton of spark, we were both more confident, more relaxed, we both had acquired more moves and there were tender moments of lying there, laughing, reminiscing about the naïve youngsters we used to be. I can’t lie: strewn across his king-sized bed, glancing into his walk-in wardrobe, there was also something slightly attractive about a man who had his shit together, who could offer security, a future. Last month, I had a brief dalliance with a man who thought he could map out his future on cryptocurrency and ads on Instagram.
Lucy circles the room and I look at the time. Kids this age don’t have the longest attention span, so time for a few more songs and a reading and we might be done. I signal to her to take her seat.
‘OK, my little snowboys and snowgirls, let’s all sit together in my magic circle and get reading.’ That carrot for a nose really adds something; she’s even wearing silver Converse. I’ll have to buy her a drink to go with that kebab. She picks up the book and a big smile spreads across her face. Oh dear, what on earth did Olga pick? ‘What Is In Santa’s Sack?’ I widen my eyes but look at all the parents who hide their sniggers too. ‘Who knows, eh? Is it furry? Is it big? Will it fit down my chimney? Let’s find out shall we, children?’
NINE
I’m waiting outside the Natural History Museum in London, looking through the thick iron railings, wondering if I have got this completely wrong. Nick told me to meet him here. I assumed we were going ice skating because the seasonal rink appears to be open; the bright white of the ice, the fairy lights, the Christmas tree and the tinkle of music filters through. That would be an excellent, festive, first official date. Both of us wrapped up warm, holding hands, gliding around under the shadow of one of London’s finest buildings. But no, he said that we’re having drinks. I was told to wear something nice. Men don’t know what those words mean, do they? It runs the gamut from black trousers and a top to black tie, so I went with a dark-green jumpsuit. With my hair, I’m always aware I look a little like Poison Ivy but hey, at least it’s seasonal. Did I get this wrong? Was it a bar or hotel opposite the Natural History Museum? I look up at the building towering over me. I’ve always loved it, the way it brings back memories of school trips, how back then the grandeur and majesty of it would take my breath away. I search for my phone in my clutch.
I’m outside.
